Survivor : (One Shot)
by starryeyedx3
Summary: One-Shot to cure my writers block following the life of Nora, a student at Ludlow's Demonic Training Academy. Set in the Charmed world. May or may not feature characters from the show. Nora is close to graduating the academy and knows what will be expected of her. Trouble is, she despises this world and her abilities. With lost loves and doubting morals, Nora has a choice to make.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I've had really bad writers block lately and really needed a break to write absolutely anything and so I was just trying out an idea. I've always wanted to know more about the demonic boarding schools in the show but there were only like two episodes about it, so a lot of what I wrote about it is stuff I made up. This is just a one-shot but I've split into two chapters because it's quite long. Opinions/criticism of all kind is welcome and much appreciated._

* * *

Alone in the dark, I listen for the sound of my own heartbeat. Just in case it suddenly decides to change its rhythm or stop all together, just to remind me that I am still a person. For now.

It's quiet tonight around the girls dorms, unnervingly so, because it's the kind of silence that's heavy and unnatural, like dread is hanging in the air and all of us are inhaling it. I know I am. It's why I'm lying flat on my bed, staring up at the ceiling even though I can't see a thing through the darkness, not moving an inch, barely breathing.

This week is what I've been dreading for six long years, ever since I first came here. Everyone knows about the tests; the ones the seniors are expected to take at the end of the school year in order to graduate. There are five of them, and any day now will be the fifth—the worst. When the end of our senior year approached, we all knew that the tests would soon commence. Five weeks, one test a week, always unannounced and horrific. I hadn't expected to last this long, really. The first test was enough to make my skin crawl and my stomach churn but it was simple in comparison to the others—a test of willpower, they said—and somehow I made it through. Maybe because I just knew that I had to, because if I failed now, in the process of my final examinations of my senior year, I knew there would be no second chance and no hope of ever getting out of this place. Well. Not alive, at least.

But brutal and bone chilling as they are, I think I understand them now; I understand why they want to put us through it all. The first four tests are mere preparations designed to free of us that silly human conscience we have embedded deep within us. It's the fifth that they really care about, the most important and the one that mattered. You fail this test and you won't be given the chance to try again. It's a kill mission. The words don't seem right, like weird, alien words that sound so ludicrous when I say them that they must mean something comical. Every time I think about it I suppress an almost-laugh from coming up my throat because it's the kind of laughter that leads to hyperventilating and anxious, unsteady heartbeats. It doesn't feel real enough for me to take it seriously.

I'm listening so closely in case of approaching footsteps when a thought occurs to me: maybe the others are listening too, maybe that's why it's so very quiet out in the hallways tonight. Usually there's a hum of chatter outside my dorm. Not tonight. It's as if the lights out policy has suddenly taken affect. I mean, the rules here are strict, alarmingly so, but there's usually a way around them. Like when the guards who trail the hallways are on the other end of the corridor or trading shifts, and you can tip toe across to the other dorms without being seen.

For just a second, I swear I can hear footsteps. I hold my breath and listen carefully. But nobody knocks on my door, nobody tells me to get dressed and meet the others outside, and nobody is handing out weapons or ticking our names from clipboards. Maybe the final test isn't tonight, after all. Maybe—wait. This time I'm sure I've heard the creak of soft footsteps. My eyes are glued to the door and stay there until the tiniest ray of light makes its way into the dim room, the door opening just a fraction.

"Nora?" A familiar voice calls. I'm on my feet before I can think—a little too fast, actually, because the blood is rushing to my head and the world feels somewhat off balance. But I don't care. I stumble through the dark to get to the crack in the door and pull it open enough to drag a hand through and lead the rest of the body inside. It's Charlie. Charlie with his eyes like glass and his heart like fire. Charlie who shouldn't be out of bed let alone in the girls dorms. I want to shake him and swear at him and tell him how lucky he was to have not been caught, but he's already smiling proudly like he knows he just dodged a bullet. "It's a ghost town out there." He says with some surprise. I almost laugh.

"Yeah, I know. There's a reason for that." I whisper as I fold my arms across my chest.

"What, the tests?" I nod in response but I wonder if he can see through the dark. "Oh, come on, there's no way it's happening tonight. You know, in my dorm, Peter, Reese and the Callaway brothers are splitting a bottle of vodka and pretending they've hooked up with girls."

"What girls are they talking about? The blow-up kind?"

He laughs, still a quiet sound. "That's what I said."

It goes quiet for a second and I hear him move away. There's a soft click off in the distance and my bedside lamp brightens the room with an unnaturally yellow glow. I shield my eyes from the sudden source of light and squint as they adjust. Who needs corneas, anyway? "That's better." Charlie mumbles. He takes a seat on my bed and perches my pillow against the wall so he can rest his back against it. I sit on the edge of the mattress, next to him. He's still grinning, looking down at his hands like there's a funny memory playing inside his head.

"What?" I ask.

He shakes his head slightly, his grin widening. "It's nothing. Just something the guys said."

"Tell me." I insist out of increasing curiosity, wondering why it's so funny. I could use one of his stories right about now.

He's still not looking at me when he finally speaks, "They seem to think...that you and I...never mind." He shakes his head again.

I catch his drift, loud and clear, and screw up my face as I try to compose a sentence."What? You and I...like, together? Together-together?" My voice sounds high pitched and incredulous for some reason.

"I know," he says, "its crazy. I mean, I would never...not with you." His tone is soft, more serious than I'm used to.

I grab another pillow from my bed and throw it in his direction in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Hey!" I say in defence of his accidental insult.

He laughs. _Thank God._ "Sorry!" He looks at me with something unfamiliar in his eyes, "I didn't mean it like that. I mean, look at you. You're gorgeous. But you're like my best friend in this place. I would never...jeopardize that."

There's something in his eyes that I can't quite place and I can't decide if I believe him. He's looking at me now, dead in the eye, unfaltering. That silence is back but it's not so unwelcomed anymore. It takes me by surprise when Charlie is the one to break it.

"How's your face?" He asks.

My hand flies to cover my lips. I had forgotten. A few days ago my bottom lip had been left with a rather unflattering bloody, split on the side and had swollen throughout the next day. All thanks to Claudia Denter who punched me in the face during combat practise when we were paired up together for hand to hand combat—no face hitting allowed. And although she swore it was an accident and apologized frivolously, I caught that stupid little grin of hers twitch on her lips. But thankfully the swelling seems to have disappeared, leaving a thin cut on my lip to be the only reminder.

"It's okay, I think." I brush a lock of hair behind my ear, dark mocha and curling without permission.

He sits up and gently takes my face in his hands, getting a closer look. He's so close I can catch the peppermint on his breath. "Barely noticeable." He says after a while. He's probably lying but it makes me feel better to believe him.

Picking up the other pillow that I had thrown in his direction—which he was holding over his chest like a teddy bear—I set it against the wall next to him and sit back. As I was getting comfortable, I accidentally elbowed his arm. "Ow." He says in mock-pain.

I let out a soft laugh, mumbling, "Sorry, princess." He nudges me back, playful.

"Just for that, you don't get to see what I found." He announced. Charlie was always finding things, weird things. Broken pieces of old coins and trinkets and other useless things he or some of his friends have come across out in the human world.

I sigh. I might as well see what the mystery object was today. It wasn't like there were many other sources of entertainment around here. "Please?" I ask with my head tilted to the side.

"Nope. Not good enough."

I smile because this is how it usually goes. "Fine. I'm so very, very sorry, your highness, for my elbow coming into contact with your arm. I beg of your forgiveness." I put my hand over my heart for added theatricality.

His grin is persistent. "Close your eyes." He instructs. I do as he says and hear him rustle through his pocket for something. It sounds like plastic but I'm not sure. He takes my hand and places something light in my palm. As I open my eyes and see a bright red wrapper, familiar and heart warming. It's a bag of skittles; something I haven't seen in many years. I look back at him wide eyed with my mouth hanging open, searching for words. Ever since we were kids new to this school, we would always talk about what we missed most from the human world. For some kids it was their dog or their video games, for Charlie it was his grandmother's cooking, and for me it was always a packet of skittles. And for years, Charlie had been listening to me wish I had a packet of my favourite candy. And now he had gotten me one.

"Is it the right one?" He asks, looking just as happy as I'm sure my face looks.

"Of course it is! Where did you find it?"

"Well, the freshmen went on this trip to the mortal world last week and I asked Reese's little brother to see if he could find me some of these."

"And he actually bought them?"

He looks down, "No. Not bought them, Nora." Oh. _Oh._ No, he probably wouldn't have needed to buy them.

"Thank you!" I wrap my arms around him abruptly and crush him in a hug that I suspect took him by surprise. I was giddy with wild excitement as I carefully opened the wrapper. "Give me your hand." I demand. He looks taken aback.

"They're yours, Nora. You don't have to share." He sounds so modest, like he hasn't gone out of his way to do this for me. This was easily the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me in six years, and I was not about to let him go unrewarded. I shot him a look of disbelief.

"Charlie, give me your hand." I repeat in a stricter tone, to which he only chuckles. I take his hand in mine and begin pouring the rainbow candy onto his palm. I pour myself a handful and throw my head back like I'm taking a shot. Yes. A delicious, sugary, essence of happiness, shot.

It doesn't take long for the sugar to take affect and send my wild joy to a whole other level. I'm making little skittles flowers on my hand while Charlie steals all of the blues, and he starts me laughing because his tongue has become stained candy blue. It was as if we were little kids, giddy with delight, in some faraway place where we had no cares, no worries, no obligations-and it was wonderful.

A much sought after distraction from the reality of living at the academy.

The thing is, when I first came here to the academy I was excited. My parents told me that I was soon to be attending an elite boarding school that would broaden my mind and create an entire spectrum of possibilities for my future. I think I was twelve. All I cared about was getting to live with other kids my age and having midnight slumber parties like they did in books, because as an only child, I was thrilled at the idea of being around other kids all day every day. But that was not the case. At all.

The rules at Ludlow's Academy were strict. You were never allowed to speak out of turn or miss a class, and punishments were severe. Lights out was at 9pm sharp and nobody was ever permitted to step outside without a guard present. The other children barely even spoke to one another, which I soon realised was because they were all in competition with one another. All of them wanted to be the best and all them were willing to do anything to get to the top. I remember that back then some classes seemed strange to me. What kind of twelve year old takes combat classes?

Though, the thing that bothered me the most was the letters thing. At first, I got letters from my parents every month. Then every two months, then every three. As time went on and I reached my senior year, the letters became fewer and fewer until I heard nothing at all. I'm sure it's something the faculty came up with to toughen us up, to try to make us forget we ever had families to begin with.

Sometimes I wish I could just go back to being that innocent little kid, before ever coming here. I hate it here. Everyone hates it here. That's the whole point. They want us to be willing to do anything to graduate and get out of here.

For the first few weeks, I can remember being so bitterly lonely. I was alone in a strange place with nobody to talk to and nobody to listen to me. And then I met Charlie. I guess he took pity on me after a while. We were in the same grade, much of the same classes, and he just came along one day and took me under his wing. He wasn't a massively popular kid back then so it wasn't like when he and I became friends, everyone immediately became nice to me. But either way, I was grateful. He had a few of his own friends and introduced me as best he could, sat next to me at lunch, kept me company when I was lonely.

And here we are six years later, still the same story, still the same lonely little kids inside.

My sides hurt from laughing and I realise I had forgotten how good it feels. Charlie is shushing me to keep quiet, telling me that the others are going to hear and think I'm having a kind of weird seizure. He's sprawled out on my bed and I slump back against the wall beside him. I realise how close we are.

Charlie exhales deeply, still munching on one last candy, and closes his eyes as if he's about to fall asleep. An immediate concern strikes up. He can't possibly sleep here; he won't get away with it. Someone will notice he's gone, inform a guard who will in turn wake up the entire school to make sure he hasn't run away or been kidnapped or killed... Or maybe that's just the sugar rush talking. Okay, I'm calm. No more jumping to irrational conclusions.

"You can't sleep here." Is all I whisper. With his eyes remaining closed, he answers with a brief groan. For just a second he opens his eyes and sees that I'm staring, sees the unexpected intimacy. I'm sure he's about to put a painfully obvious distance between us, but he doesn't. Instead, he takes my hand, interlacing our fingers, and just holds it against his chest. His eyes are closed again, content. I notice the contrast between our hands. My bronze skin looks darker against his simply by comparison, my fingers more slender.

And for the first time in a long time, I'm reminded of my mother. I remember that her skin, like mine, had a gloriously golden tone that glowed the shade of copper in the daylight. I remember her beauty and her dark, velvet eyes and the way her hair smelled when I hugged her. I remember a lot, but I'd rather I didn't. It's much easier to live with just the mere notion of having _had_ parents, once.

"I guess I should go." Charlie mumbles in a strained and tired kind of way, "Not that it would matter much. You'd still be able to sense wherever I am." We don't discuss our powers very often, so I'm not quite sure what to say when he breaches the subject. My power was a complicated matter, one that seemed to fascinate my teachers who had informed me on several occasions that it would come in handy on team missions.

I'm a tracker.

I can see where certain people are at any given time, in my head, I see them. With strained concentration, I can close my eyes and put my finger on a map and just know that that's where I'll find whoever I'm looking for. Personally I had rendered it relatively useless until my arrival at Ludlow's Academy. At least it kept the teachers happy. Unfortunately, the downside to your teachers bringing you up to the front of the class for demonstrations and showing evident favouritism was the other students utterly despising you. I only had to trace the healing cut on my bottom lip to be reminded of just how much some people hated me. That and Claudia's odd toothy grin.

I turn on my side to face Charlie properly. "Maybe I won't have to. Maybe none of this is really happening. That's how _yours_ works, right? Take a memory, plant a memory?" He turns his head and meets my gaze, his fingers still woven around my own. He smiles.

"It's not that simple."

I already know that. Everyone here is trained to use their powers to the best of their ability. Well. They say that, but what they really mean to say is: _'Please, show us your ability so that we can use it like a weapon and cause as much death and destruction as we demand.'_

"Is it getting any easier?" I ask referring to the trouble I know that he's had in actually using his power.

His smile fades and he gets this look in his eyes a lot like shame, but he covers it up too quickly for me to be sure. "Garrison says I could have a bright future in the interrogation field." We both know what that means, a polite way of saying torture. And the look in his eyes finally makes sense. "If I can control it, I could find out what people know."

"Without hurting them." I realise that's what he's hoping for. I squeeze his hand feeling somewhat proud. Charlie could convince a room full of people that he didn't care about anything and that he was dedicated to Ludlow's Academy, but I knew better. I know that he doesn't take any joy in hurting anyone and I know that he will hate every moment of being in the interrogation field if his teacher gets his way.

His expression looks strained when he replies. "Don't get too hopeful. After the final test, I have a meeting with Ludlow. If he approves, he's going to start the chevron process."

Oh God. The chevrons. I feel stupid for almost forgetting. It's only natural that that would be the next step after graduation. Charlie was a true talent to them, one that they would ensure completed the transition from this charismatic, beautiful guy, to a full-fledged demon, something brutal and so...not him. They were going to squash everything good and pure out of him with six nauseating steps and make him one of the monsters we used to whisper about as kids.

I squeeze his hand again, tighter, as if I can somehow make it all better. He squeezes back, raises our entwined hands to press his lips lightly to the back of my hand.

An abrupt and alarmingly loud sound comes from the door.

One of the teachers—Garrison, with his jet black hair cropped short—is standing in the doorway, staring at the sight of us together, lying on my bed. Abruptly, I tear my hand away, shift, putting an immediate void between Charlie and I. Garrison glances down at the clipboard in his hand. My stomach sinks. He looks back up at us and continues as if nothing is out of place.

"You two need to line up outside. The bus is waiting." He says in that stern manner that he does so well, before walking further down the corridor, I expect to inform others of the unsettling news.

My chest feels constricted, knotted. Next to me, I see that Charlie's face has paled dramatically. He's trying to hide it, though. His expression doesn't budge, like he's made of steel. The final test, now. I knew it was coming but still feel so unprepared.

It comes crashing towards me as if, finally, I understand the severity of the situation, and the fact that this is what the past six years of my life have been leading to. Do or die. Tonight I become a murderer.


	2. Chapter 2

Tonight is one of those nights where the stars are hiding and the moon looks dull and lifeless behind a haze of grey cloud. Through the dusty bus windows, the only thing I can make out is an occasional street lamp. The bus is going over bump after bump, taking sharp turns that seem to go on forever. I have no idea where we are now and it bothers me. Not that it would make a difference, knowing where they were taking us, the anticipation would still be the worst part. Unexpectedly, everyone is talking amongst themselves, as usual. None of them seem fazed by the prospects of what tonight will bring. Either that or they're just good at faking it.

Across the rows of seats, in my eye line, Charlie is staring at me with the brightest eyes I've ever seen. The light hits his face in the most extraordinary way, making the angles of his face so much more chiselled and his eyes gleam like diamonds and pale blue ice. I wish he wouldn't move. I wish the entire world could stand still just long enough for this moment to sear itself in my memory forever.

The bus hits another bump in the road and everything jolts. Charlie realises that I'm staring and his lips part suddenly in a wondrous kind of smile.

"What are you doing?" He says to me, like he might laugh, like our lives are not about to change.

"Nothing." I smile back. He looks away when someone on the other end of the bus calls out his name. I turn away and look out the window beside me. In the reflection version of myself, I notice that my lip looks just as it normally would, only a miniscule red split in the skin if I look close enough. My gaze travels absent mindedly to the person sitting directly opposite me, their face clear in the reflective glass because they're staring right at me. It's Claudia; with her chestnut hair in a tight French braid that pulls on her skin too much and makes her look ten years older. Our eyes meet for a brief second in the reflection. She turns her head and I assume she's going to begin talking to somebody else. But no. She twists herself around in her seat, stands, and strides across to the empty slot beside me. Oh, God. She's going for round two in the middle of a moving bus. Ambitious. I must look somewhat horrified because her face splits into a giggle. She covers her lips with the tips of her fingers as she does so, like she thinks she's a ten year old girl in a French musical.

"Relax, Nora. I'm not going to hurt you." God, she sounds patronising. "I just came to wish you luck." My eyebrows raise and my lips part, but I have no words to respond. Luckily, she takes no notice and carries on anyway. "You know, I never thought you'd make it this far," inspiring words, as always, "I didn't think you'd make it past the first trial, but here you are." She gets this look in her eyes like dissatisfaction. Not in a particularly unkind way, actually, it was more like realisation that she had more competition then she first thought.

"Sorry to disappoint you." I say quietly, sharply.

Her eyes glaze over with something acidic, "Well, we can't all be teacher's pets, now can we." Her words are just as bitter. Teachers pet? Is that what she thought?

"What?"

She humphs a little under her breath, sneering, "Perfect Nora. The one who never fails, never puts a foot out of line. Always the favourite."

"I'm not—"

She interrupts, "Don't even try to deny it." And she shifts in her seat and makes her way back to the other side.

I could have laughed at her outburst, I could have screamed, cried, shrugged it off. But what she said was beginning to make sense to me. I was always treated differently. My teachers presented me to my class as something to marvel at and something they should strive for. My powers thrilled them, my grades were impeccable and I avoided trouble of any kind as much as I could. I never wanted any of that. I never wanted to be put on a pedestal and idolised. I guess I could understand why she would think that, but it made me wonder if that's what the others thought of me too.

The bus stutters and slows to a stop.

"Alright, everyone inside. Quickly." Garrison bellows from the top of the bus.

From the outside, my surroundings are not much clearer. It's dark, too dark to really tell, but it looks like an industrial building with stairs leading to the door above, probably abandoned for quite a long time judging by its very thorough graffiti art. The inside isn't much better. Torches were handed out so we could see where we were going, but the inside is just a very large, very empty, very dusty, space. There are concrete pillars in neat rows and slits of windows high above. Debris and pebbles and wooden crates littering the concrete floor. There are some parts that look like they have been swept or tried to make clean. A collection of shabby sofas, car seats and blankets lie in one area. There's a large, unopened box next to them.

"Let's get started, shall we." Garrison claps his hands together, excited. I notice three more guards dressed in all black standing close by him, watching us. Some of the other students have taken it upon themselves to reserve seats on our new little furniture set. But once Garrison begins speaking, their expressions of wonder fade. I feel numb. I can't feel my face, either because it's so cold in here or because I know what's about to happen next. "There will be two groups. When I call your name, step over here." He points to an empty space to his left.

He begins listing names and it feels like he's never going to stop, the dread is increasing. I listen for my name but I don't hear it. I hear Charlies though. Garrison claps his hands again, making me jump. He's finished. Nobody's face shows any expression.

"This group," he points to the standing group that he just announced, "You're going first."

I can see Charlie staring at a spot in the floor, I can see the strain in his expression to keep him from cracking, and all I want to do is grab his hand and run. Run and keep running until we find someplace better.

One of the other guard's moves towards the unopened box and when he opens it reveals weapon after weapon. He's handing them out like toys at a children's party. It happens fast. The weapons are handed out, some practise throwing fireballs at concrete spots on the wall, and then they were just gone. They left and the rest of us just stared, unsure what to do, what to say.

At some point someone must have begun handing out bottles of water because someone hands me a bottle. I realise that I've been standing in the same spot wrapped up in my own thoughts for too long because when I look around I see that most of the others are sitting together not speaking or practising conjuring and throwing energy balls, fireballs and athames. I take a seat on the sofa, which is surprisingly clean, almost like new. There's a girl sitting next to me with a blanket draped over her. I've seen her before around school. Long, dark hair, baby blue eyes, freckles dusted along her nose in a delicate sort of way. We've never spoken before, but to my astonishment, she hands me a blanket and smiles at me. I apprehensively take it from her. People at Ludlow's Academy simply don't do things like this for people they barely know. Togetherness isn't exactly the school's mission statement. This girl seems far too sweet to be in a place like this.

The blanket is thin but it adds a welcomed warmth to my skin. I curl my knees further towards my chest and rest my cheek against the back of the sofa. I hadn't intended to fall asleep but realised I was about to when I felt my eyes flutter and my fingers go numb. I fell asleep to the sound of fire licking the thick cement walls and the clunk of athames falling from someone's grasp.

However, I'm soon dragged back into a state of consciousness by the sound of high, desperate sobs, the kind where you can't catch your breath and you feel like you're choking on your own tears. I open my eyes to see Claudia, next to me, with her face buried in her hands, sobbing helplessly. The sun is up. It's streaming in light through the high windows that makes everything look greyer, bleaker. I've never seen Claudia cry before, it's strange. I've always seen her as someone who never cared much about anything except hair products and perfume. But through this moment of vulnerability, it humanises her and causes me realise that she's not the type of girl who's cut out for our world, for what's expected of us.

"Claudia?" I ask and she snaps her head up to look at me. She wipes her tear stained cheeks with the end of her sleeve and sniffles, trying to regain control. She's not speaking. "Claudia, are you okay?" I move a little further towards her.

Her eyes are rimmed red which makes the green in them more vivid than I've ever seen them. I catch that look horrible dread in her eyes before she finally squeaks out, "They're not back yet."

I took a deep breath. She was the last person I thought I would have to comfort at a time like this. But I didn't like to see anyone upset like this, not even her. "I'm sure they'll be back soon." I said it more for my own benefit than for hers.

She slowly shook her head, "What if they've been caught? The textbooks say that we should be on the lookout for witches. What if they went after a witch instead of a mortal by mistake? And I don't even want to think about what would happen if the Charmed Ones got a hold of them."

She paused but only to catch her breath, I could practically see the questions building up behind her eyes. I stopped her before she could ramble any further.

"They've been trained to deal with those circumstances for years, just like us. And the Charmed Ones are just three witches, powerful witches but there are still only three of them. The odds of running into them tonight is slim to none, there's nothing to be afraid of."

I lied. There was a lot to be afraid of. The Charmed Ones were witches that we had been taught were our enemy from the beginning. We learned about their power, their strength together and the power of three. I've read almost every scrap of literature in the library I could get my hands on pertaining to the three sister witches, and every time I did I wished for nothing more than to be on their side. Everything in the textbook spoke about how they murdered demons and fought hard to prevent them from attacking mortals and innocent witches, how they wanted to stop the rituals that created new demons. And while my classmates seemed to be sucked into the idea that our teachers had put into our heads that these things were truly wrong, I found myself disagreeing. I could never voice my opinion, I knew that. This world has a way of turning things around so that your morals become so twisted you can't recognise evil when you see it. They hardly ever call this side the evil side, just that it's the _right_ side. They want us to fight for their cause.

Claudia revealed a small, sad smile. "You're being so nice to me," she said after a while, "I was never this nice to you."

This time I'm the one who looks away, stares at my fingernails. "I know." I say quietly. I don't look up to see her expression but I can tell she's not revelling in my misery. It's quiet for a while, too quiet. I glance around and see that others have fallen asleep or sit wrapped up in blankets sipping from water bottles. I hear Claudia sigh.

"Do you ever think about it? About what the trial will feel like, I mean."

I stare for a second, considering my answer. "Of course I do. Don't you?"

"No." She almost laughs from nerves, "I never let myself think about it." I suppose that was one way to handle it. "But I do now. I thought over everything last night when the other group left and I realised that not all of us are going to pass tonight. We're not all going to make it."

She was right. There was nothing I could say that would make that fact seem any better or feel any less raw.

The sound of screeching metal draws everyone's immediate attention. It's the thick metal door opening. I cross my fingers and bite my bottom lip, praying and hoping with everything that I have that I will see Charlie's face again. Garrison is the first one inside, the first one to make his way down the rickety staircase. He looks triumphant. Face after face of horrified teenagers with blood splatters on their hands and the coldest, numbest expression I've ever seen, and then I see him.

Everyone is up on their feet, patting backs and announcing their congratulations. The group that has returned is smaller than the one who left, but these ones were the lucky ones, they're the ones who passed.

Charlie's face is drained of blood, his skin ice white. Someone takes him by the shoulder and hugs him, congratulates him. Another just pats his back hard enough to make him stumble, and a faint smile appears on his lips. I want to talk to him and ask him about everything that happened but everyone is preoccupied.

The hours pass and I still haven't spoken to Charlie. Food is handed out to us and we eat in silence inside the dusty warehouse. The food is nothing special, sandwiches from plastic packages that tastes like cardboard. Not that I minded much, I would have taken anything at this point. I try to catch Charlie's eye as he sits amongst a group of boys I've never seen him with before but my best friend won't even look at me. At this point I've been talking to Claudia more than him.

After a while, the guards announce that we have permission to go outside on the condition that we don't step beyond the high wire fence that surrounds the warehouse. I was more excited than I should have been at the prospects of going outside to feel the fresh air on my face, but I wasn't the only one. A handful of us make our way to a roller door that has been opened enough for us to pass underneath. It feels so good to be outside where I can marvel at the clouds and watch birds soar high above me.

I feel a hand on my shoulder.

I turn around to see Charlie, that glum look on his face still evident despite the small smile he meets me with. Without even really thinking about what I'm doing, I throw my arms around him. I hug him and he hugs me back and it's almost like old times.

"How was it?" I ask when we pull apart.

He looks thoughtful for a moment. He exhales heavily and rubs his face. "It was...strange. It was quick, actually. I didn't think it would be so..." he struggles to get the word out, swallows hard, "easy." He finally says.

I hadn't expected him to react like this. I had thought he would be crushed, sickened by what he and the others had been made do, but I couldn't read any of that on his expression. He was different. I dug my fingernails into the palms of my hands, feeling nauseated and utterly wretched. The silver wire fence next to me catches my eye and I wonder how difficult it would be for me to through myself over it and make a break for it. I wonder if anyone would be able to stop me, how far I could get before one of the guards caught me. Daydreaming about escaping was pointless.

The rest of the day goes by with the rest of us listening to the tales of how our friends and classmates went about murdering a dozen mortals. The way they're speaking about it just sounds so casual and mundane. I feel like screaming but I doubt anyone would pay any attention. Sometimes it's like being underwater, I could scream and scream but nobody will ever hear me.

So I go along with it, if only for the sake of keeping up pretences. I smile at appropriate times, I clap when everyone else does. It's only when the sky begins to darken again that reality sinks in. It's my turn now. A tall guard with a European accent announces that we'll be heading out soon and that some members of the other group will come with us as reward for doing so well. Apparently, the reward for a good nights killing was yet more killing.

This time the bus ride is silent. Nobody tries to start conversation and nobody laughs or snickers or tries to make light of the situation. The atmosphere is tense and almost professional. It's like we're all suddenly aware of the situation and what the consequences will be. I realise this must have been what the first group must have experienced during their journey.

We arrive at what appears to be a field of wide open space. But soon I notice the elaborate fountain off in the distance and gravel path, and I realise that we're in a park. I tighten my grip on the athame that had been put in my hand before getting on the bus, and hope I don't drop it. It still feels slippery in my hand and my fingertips have gone numb. I slow my breathing to try to control my ravage heartbeat. I can see my breath in the cold, night air, like little puffs of white smoke. And it still doesn't feel real yet. I keep thinking that maybe someone will tell us soon that this was all just a joke, that we don't really have to do this.

The group begins to disperse around the park to wait for their mark. I can remember being told that we were supposed to stay hidden until morals arrive, which was easily done because the streetlamps appeared to be purposely broken and we were all dressed in black. But I can't imagine why mortals would come through a deserted park by moonlight.

I'm standing by a mound of wild bushes and shrubbery when I finally realise who's hiding with me. Two guys that I've seen around but hardly speak to and Claudia. She doesn't carry any weapon in her hands, she doesn't need to. She had always been skilled at conjuring fireballs. When she meets my gaze she smiles a very brief, very nonchalant kind of smile. I guess her nerves have all been evaporated. I look away and scan across the darkness for any sign of life, but she calls my name.

"Nora?"

"Yeah?" I whisper.

"I'm sorry." Six years of slinging insults and not once have I ever heard her mutter an apology. I turn to her, bewildered, as if I haven't heard her correctly. But the solemn look on her face tells me that I have.

"For what?" I'm sure that I'm pushing it but I want to actually hear her say it.

"For everything."

That soft whisper was the last thing I heard before the ear splitting scream emitted from across the park. I squint through the darkness to try to make out what's going on. It looks like a guard clutching onto a woman, a mortal woman I suppose. There's a group of well built guards standing behind her too, all dragging mortals kicking and screaming. So that was how this was going to work? They were going to drag innocent people to their deaths.

"Keep moving, witch." One of the guards says to a small woman with long, red curls as he drags her roughly by the elbow. She's one of the few mortals who refuses to scream. I already admire her for that, for not wanting to give them the satisfaction. I wonder how they were able to find witches. Not that it matters much now, taking the life of a witch was considered much superior to that of a mortal, a higher merit. It sickens me. One of the bigger guards emits an energy ball and sends it crashing into the fountain, cracking and crumbling the concrete, fizzing out when it hits the water.

And that was our signal to begin. The intended victims our released and, naturally, they run in an attempt of escape. But then the rest of us appear from our hiding places to meet them with blades and fire and energy balls, and all I can hear is screaming and slashing and a gurgling of blood in people's throats. I run, hoping that there's nobody left for me. I can see that some of the others are chasing mortals further down the park, where they would have almost been able to escape. One of them practically crashes into me, terrified and screaming at me. She's a young girl, maybe in her early twenties, blonde, with mascara tears running down her cheeks.

She's begging me for help, maybe because she thinks I'm different to the others. I look at her and I want to cry as hard as she is. But I don't. I take her by the arm, pick her up from the ground and just start running. I don't even know what I'm doing; I just wanted to help her. I thought that I could hide her behind the tall, untidy shrubbery where she would be too dark to be seen, and that by morning she would be free to escape.

But she doesn't understand why I'm running with her and she panics. She scratches at my arms, tries to break away from me. I'm trying to talk to her and explain to her that I'm not going to hurt her when I suddenly feel her go limp in my arms. Her eyes glaze over. I put my hand on her back trying to steady her but I can feel something wet on her back. I already know its blood. I can see a dark haired boy I know as Jake smirking in front of me, like he thinks I'm grateful.

Amongst the screaming and bloodshed, one particular voice bellows above the rest, "The Charmed Ones!" It calls out. I snap my head up to scan through the park, and find three women standing close by, their faces half covered by shadows. It can't be them; I won't let myself believe it. But I somehow hope that it is them.

After announcing their arrival, chaos ensues. Kids my age, the people I've all but grown up with, are aiming for them, throwing weapons like darts. But these women know exactly what to do. One of them orbs out of harm's way in a glimmer of blue light, another is fighting using hand to hand combat much like what I've learned in the academy. But the other sister witch is causing spontaneous explosions with the simplest of hand gestures. It's incredible, how she's able to take out the guards who have made my life hell one after the other. I think that the others are beginning to realise that they don't stand a chance against her, and instead focus more so on the other two witches.

Through all of the commotion, I find myself just standing here in the middle of it. I begin walking, I'm not sure where. I pass by body after body, corpses of school friends and innocent people. I don't even realise I'm crying until hot tear drops are dripping from my chin. I'm trying to convince myself that Charlie isn't among these bodies. And that's when I see him. He's not joining in the fight against the witches, he's watching wide eyed and horrified at the sight of the destruction. The explosions are loud and the screams are louder.

I'm so preoccupied with just getting to him that I don't notice a terrified mortal man reach for something on the ground. I don't notice the gun that he picks up with his shaky hands and I don't notice the screams warning me that it's pointed in my direction.

Bang.

Bang.

An unbelievable force knocks me to the ground. I'm lying on my back, staring up at the stars, trying to remember how to breathe. The air has been knocked out of my lungs leaving me feeling dazed and disoriented. Sounds seem muffled, like being underwater. I can make out Charlie's face above me, calling out my name with the most awful tone of panic. He's holding my hand so tight. I can feel pressure near my rib cage, like something is poking me. It feels like a twig or something small so when I reach my hand to my side and feel nothing, it surprises me. My fingertips touch something warm and wet. Blood. My blood.

Charlie keeps telling me to stay calm, that help is coming. It dawns on me that I've been shot and it seems so ridiculous. I've been training for years to use weapons and combat and even my powers to defend myself, and in the end, all it takes is two bullets.

I'm sure I should be in pain but I don't feel much of anything. I can see people running past me and someone is talking to Charlie.

"We have to get out of here, just leave her." The voice says, I'm sure it's Garrison's.

I notice that a tear is rolling down Charlie's cheek, "I'm not leaving her." His voice cracks on the last word and I squeeze his fingers. I know that they can't take me with them, they won't have the medical resources I probably need. I don't want him to die for me. I don't want him to leave with them either, but I want him to survive.

There are other voices that I can't quite make sense of, but soon Charlie looks down on my again with sorrow in his ice blue eyes. There are other trying to drag him away, trying to pull him to come with them. But he leans down and ever so softly presses his lips to my forehead. "Goodbye, Nora." He whispers in my ear. And with that he leaves with the others.

I'm alone in the dark, again. I wait and I wait but death has yet to come. Maybe this wasn't supposed to be my final moments on this earth, maybe I could survive this. I didn't know what would happen next. I didn't know if the Charmed Ones were still here or if anyone would find me out here.

But one thing that I was sure of was that if I were to die tonight, I would die happy, because I was finally free.


End file.
